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Thursday, May 20, 2010

Where was I? Oh yeah, gyms. God, that place can get so weird and bizarre. If it isn't the grunties screaming as they lift weights, it is the career gym people that drive me almost as crazy.

A few years ago, I was able to go to the gym at many different times in the day, whether it was morning, lunch time or after work. I would show up at my erratic times and quickly noticed that there were certain people that I would see every single time that I was there. At first I thought that these people (men and women) were employees of the gym, but as I trudged away on my elliptical, it was apparent that they were not. The actual employees kept a fair distance from them and only conversed if cornered or caught unawares. I also noticed that it was the overly talkative men that the employees mainly avoided, and that the career women kept to themselves and stayed on their treadmills or ellipticals from the moment I walked in and were still on them when I left forty minutes later. The point is that whenever I was there, they were there as well. With the career men, they rarely seemed to be doing anything except hanging out and talking to whoever they caught in weight lifting area.

There were certain occasions where the career men would come into the cardio areas, and they usually seemed a bit awkward about the whole affair, but it happened and I was able to pick up bits and pieces of conversations that they made with the person they trapped on the stationary bike or the elliptical trainer. These guys were usually pretty beefy, very tan, wore makeshift tank-tops, and with the ultra-wide-eyed enthusiasm of a shifty CEO would strike up a conversation with someone, which would ultimately lead into the career gym guy semi-proselytizing for Jesus. There was mention of church, bible study, finding oneself and getting through the rough times, but by the time the conversation got to that point, I was done and out the door; same with the career's victim. I am well aware that many of the men are just lonely, and have been through some heavy shit, and that both the career men and women have intense body issues that should be addressed, but all that I want to do is go in, exercise in peace without being harassed for Jesus, and get out after letting off some steam and catching some of The Daily Show.

***

A particular gym event comes to mind that might possibly delve into my own multitude of issues, but I think I was fairly justified in my actions and my shock at not just the gym mentality or culture, but that of human nature. I was at the gym on the elliptical, of course, and probably watching Thundarr the Barbarian on the TV, when I noticed a couple of people looming around behind me and staring out the window. I was nearly done with my workout, but my curiosity had me snared and I turned to look over my shoulder, nearly falling in the process, and saw one...two...three, and then four police officers sneaking around building. Their guns were drawn.

More people began to gather around the window, and another police car pulled up on Calle Real and another police officer jumped out of the car to run across the street towards the gym. Let's do the math. 5 Police officers with guns drawn and acting very nervous, proceed to circle the back area of 1 gym. >8 dipshits decide to be lookylooz and find the whole affair exciting. If you subtract 1 Donist from the equation what do you have? Answer: 1 Donist that packs up his shit, cautiously makes his way to his car and drives off past the road blocks that are being set up + all of the lookylooz are forced to stay in the gym for an hour and a half, while >5 police officers patrol the area for the kid that shot a bebe gun at the upstairs law office window. Why the fuck would someone want to stick around and see what happens when there are very nervous police officers with guns out casing one side of the building that you are in? Why not just tip the hell out the door and get out of there? I don't get it. Guns drawn = >0% chance of being shot.

I have to wrap this up tomorrow with a couple of nutball incidents that my wife has encountered at the gym and that make me wonder why she keeps going there.

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About Me

My name is Don McMillan, but you can call me Donist for short. I am the author of the all-ages novel KIBBLES ’N’ BOTS (available for the Kindle and via Kindle apps), and I live in Santa Barbara, California with my wife, Amy, and our Boston terrier, Tulip. I write prose and comics, I'm a graphic designer, and I letter comic books.
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